


that time they made out because of a psychic

by allthebees (jamtomorrowandjamyesterday)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamtomorrowandjamyesterday/pseuds/allthebees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are ghosts and childhood trauma for Scott, Derek has a murder face but so does Allison, and Marie the psychic looks like a secretary which really upsets Stiles. Derek and Stiles' UST really upsets her and then they make out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that time they made out because of a psychic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewhippinghand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhippinghand/gifts).



> I don't even know what happened here.

“No.” Scott sounds about as decisive as Stiles has ever heard him sound. “You know how I feel about psychics.”  
  
Stiles frowns. He tries for puppy dog eyes, fails, and then scowls. “You were _eight_ , Scott, don’t you think it’s time you face your fear? For the good of the town,” he adds and hopes appealing to Scott’s responsibility complex might help his cause. He would go on his own, really he would, only he wouldn’t. They aren’t entirely sure that it isn’t the _psychic_ behind the sudden surge in paranormal activity in Beacon Hills. No one has died (“Yet,” Lydia keeps saying with an oddly anticipatory note in her voice, “no one has died yet,”) but two kids from the year below them had tried to make a rip off of the first Paranormal Activity film. One of them was still in the hospital because he refused to sleep. The other still isn’t speaking.  
  
“Take Derek with you,” Scott says stubbornly. “He looks scarier than me.”  
  
.  
  
“How did you convince me this was a good idea?” Derek mutters as he locks the Camaro behind him and Stiles stares at the office front with his head tilted and eyes narrowed.  
  
“Scott said your murder face is better than his,” Stiles responds absently and straightens up. “Are you sure this is the right place? Can you smell any incense? Are there ghosts? I feel like there should be ghosts.” He starts walking towards the door.  
  
“What do you mean my murder face?” Derek says and he frowns as he follows. “I didn’t use my murder face, what are we talking about, I don’t even _have_ -”  
  
The bell over the door jingles as Stiles steps into the building and Derek gives up.  
  
.  
  
The psychic, Marie, is in her late twenties and Stiles thinks she’s the secretary. He opens his mouth before Derek can tell him to shut up and Derek thinks it’s going to be a wonder if they make it out of this one unscathed. He hopes psychics aren’t as easily offended as witches. It had taken him weeks to be able to look Chris Argent in the eye again after the last time they went up against witches.  
  
Marie crosses her legs and looks over the frames of her glasses at them. Her hair is in a _bun_ and Stiles is staring in abject confusion. She purses her lips and reminds them both uncomfortably of Lydia. The black skirt and bone white shirt frightens him more than he’d care to admit.  
  
“The UST in here offends me,” she says flatly. “On a deeply personal level.”  
  
Stiles chokes on air. He half-wishes he could see Derek’s face at her pronouncement but he’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe properly that he misses what he’s positive would have been an absolutely priceless expression. Marie jiggles her foot, shiny black pump dangling half off her foot, and lifts an eyebrow that is about half the size of Derek’s and somehow ten times more threatening.  
  
Derek’s fist hits between his shoulder blades and he sucks in a lungful of air. It still takes him longer than he’d like to get enough breath to talk properly and it is just long enough for any sense of self-preservation to flee. “Yeah, well, your _outfit_ offends me on a deeply personal level. You’re supposed to be a psychic, right? You look like a _secretary_.”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek hisses and he’s a wall of tense muscles at Stiles’ side suddenly. “Maybe try _not_ insulting the psychic.”  
  
“I’d have to think you know anything about fashion to be offended by your opinion,” Marie says. “So don’t even bother getting your hackles up, wolf. Tell me why you’re here so you can stop polluting my office with your angst.”  
  
“What angst?” Stiles demands and looks at Derek for backup. “We aren’t _angsting_ , well, at least I’m not. Derek here probably is. Can you sense that sort of thing?” He scratches his nose. “Of course you can, what am I talking about, and hang on _just a second_ there, my fashion sense is wond _-_ ”  
  
Derek covers his mouth with a hand and smiles at Marie. Stiles thinks there are too many teeth involved for there to be any doubt that it’s one of Derek’s ‘I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth’ smiles. He’s intimately familiar with that smile.  
  
Stiles licks Derek’s hand to make him let go. The glare he gets is totally worth it. Marie makes a disgusted sound and Derek goes tense again.  
  
“Why are you here?” she asks flatly.  
  
.  
  
Marie and Derek have an eyebrow conversation that Stiles isn’t allowed to participate in before they leave. He does _not_ pout about it the entire way back to Deaton’s office.  
  
.  
  
It turns out that Marie wasn’t responsible for the ghosts, much to Stiles’ disappointment, but she does put them on the right track.  
  
Allison’s murder face is almost as good as Derek’s in the end when they find the freshman kid who stumbled upon a really old book in the local pawn shop and was having the time of his life messing around with arcane magic. Stiles sympathises with him, really, but Allison shoots a flaming arrow into the book from fifty paces and he’s also kind of satisfied at the abrupt way the kid pales and swears to never mess with ghosts again.  
  
They hand him off to Deaton and Scott asks Stiles about Marie as an afterthought.  
  
“Dude, she was the worst psychic ever,” Stiles says. “No shawls and her hair was _perfect_. She had a pencil skirt on and her eyebrows judged me the entire time.”  
  
“Was there incense?” Scott asks with narrowed eyes. “There’s always incense.”  
  
“None!” Stiles declares and waves his hands for emphasis. “It was an _office_. She spent the entire first five minutes accusing us of stinking up her office with UST and angst.”  
  
“I think that makes her the _best_ psychic ever,” Erica says from the doorway where she’s filing her nails for no apparently reason. Stiles glares at her and makes another mental note to buy the entire pack a bell collar each.  
  
“You and Lydia are never allowed near her,” he says. “Ever. She had an eyebrow conversation with Derek at the end.” He looks around. “Probably about his man-wolf pain. Where _is_ Derek?”  
  
Erica laughs and Scott wrinkles his nose suddenly. “Round the back,” he says and there’s a nasal note to his voice like he’s trying not to breathe through his nose.  
  
Stiles leaves the room wondering why he has such weird friends.  
  
.  
  
Everything makes sense when he asks Derek, who looks kind of constipated, what he and Marie said with their eyebrows and Derek just makes a strangled sound before crowding him up against the brick wall.  
  
He ends up with stubble burn on his face and scratches from the bricks all across his back.  
  
“I don’t even _care_ ,” he says happily when Scott whimpers at the holes in his Green Lantern shirt.


End file.
